The Price of Freedom
by tremolux
Summary: Katherine finds her freedom, only to learn her hardest lesson.


**THE PRICE OF FREEDOM  
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><p>Katherine's body swayed and her sweaty hands trembled as she gripped the handle of the dagger that lay buried to its silver hilt within the body beneath her. When it happened, she had gasped even louder than he had, and she tossed her brown curls back from her eyes so she could see and know for sure that it was done.<p>

Klaus was dead.

Well, as dead as an Original could get. She watched his awful face turn still and gray, never once lifting a finger from the dagger until she was damn sure it was over.

It really was over.

"Katherine!" Damon sped to her side in an instant, making sure she was alright. He shook his head, clearly taken aback by her unexpected and shocking display of heroism. "You did it! That son of a bitch is _dead!_" he gasped, looking down at Klaus' gray form. He looked at her hands on the dagger. "And you're still alive... how?"

"It's just a myth," Katherine explained. "Another lie started by Klaus himself."

"So you knew all along," Damon said, thinking. He paused, and waved his hand. "Never mind. It's not important," he said, running off to check on Stefan and Elena.

The irony was certainly thick. Damon had seen Katherine going for the blade. He anticipated what she was about to do, and fully believing it was a suicidal move, he tried to stop her. He fought her like crazy, but she fought harder to get at the dagger before the opportunity slipped by. While Klaus' attention was fully engrossed in his blood ritual, Katherine made a bold move, yanking the dagger from Elijah's chest. She plowed right into Klaus' magical circle, kicking over candles as she lunged at him. She could have taken him from behind, if she wanted to. It would have been easier and safer, but she just couldn't do it that way. It just didn't seem proper. So she swung around in front of him, right in front of his bewildered eyes, and she plunged the dagger with an upward thrust straight through his heart, because she wanted the sick bastard to see exactly who was putting an end to his wretched existence. It was her destiny. She always had to be the one do it. No one else deserved that privilege more than she. She'd earned it through five hundred years of misery. And as she lunged and he fell backwards onto the ground, she twisted that blade into his cold black heart to make sure he damn well recognized that his reign of terror was finished, and it was Katerina Petrova who did it.

Katerina Petrova, the doppelganger. The one who was born to die. The one who was to be used for a purpose and discarded. She was always a rebellious one. She didn't roll over and die like Klaus told her to. For five hundred years he'd persecuted her, not because of what she'd done, but because of who she was. Five hundred years of fear. Five hundred years of running. Five hundred years of constantly looking over her shoulder. No more.

Freedom.

After five hundred years, she finally had freedom. She could do anything. She could go anywhere. She didn't have to run, or hide, or look over her shoulder, or go on a scavenger hunt for moonstones, or manipulate people, or bargain for her life. After five hundred years, she was finally free. And that should have felt wonderful, she thought; but it didn't. Actually, it hurt like hell.

Her stomach felt like it was full of bricks as she slumped down on the ground and crawled on hands and knees away from Klaus' lifeless body. She'd always imagined this moment would be a huge celebration where she'd drink and dance over Klaus' ugly rotten corpse until the sun came up. But no. Instead of going off to sip cocktails on some tropical beach, she was on her knees in the dirt; humbled, and lowly.

There would be no celebration, because an epiphany struck her down so hard that she couldn't even stand up. Those five hundred years came back and crashed over her like a tidal wave. Everything she'd ever done came right back to drown her. Everything she'd given up. Everything she'd thrown away. Every lie she'd ever told. Every fake relationship she'd forged. Everyone she'd ever killed, cheated, manipulated, or hurt came on like the tide to drag her away, drowning in an ocean of emptiness.

Katherine finally realized that her freedom wasn't free. It came at a price, and a very costly one at that. Yet she paid that toll every single time, always silencing that voice that was her heart, killing it a tiny bit more each time until she just felt numb. Listening to your heart gets you dead, after all, so she didn't. She did what worked. She did what kept her alive.

She got her freedom, only to find that it was empty and worthless. It wasn't even worth fighting for. It didn't give her a happy ending. It didn't bring back her family, or her daughter. It didn't bring her love or enjoyment or anything truly worth living for. It didn't bring back the humanity she had given up in the process. She couldn't see the forest for the trees. Her eyes were always so focused on the destination, she was oblivious to what it would be like when she finally got there. She was too busy fending for herself, because hell, no one else would have done it for her.

It was the most dreadful feeling. She watched Elijah carry off Klaus' inanimate body. She watched Stefan wrap his arm around Elena and help her stagger off into the dark, and she watched the other brother turn to follow them, his jet black hair melting into the night.

Damon.

Watching Damon turn and leave was what hurt her the most. The closest thing to real love she'd ever had, and she'd foolishly thrown it all away. She had to. It was in the name of survival, after all. She watched Damon walk off, apparently resigned to Elena's half-hearted, platonic "love," when he deserved so much more. He deserved true love. He deserved a mate who was in every part his equal, whose love burned as intensely as his own; not the lukewarm affectations of his brother's human girlfriend. He deserved everything Katherine wanted to give him back, but never had the courage to. She didn't have the freedom, back then. Now she had the freedom, but she'd lost him.

Nobody ever loved her like Damon, and she hated herself for everything she'd ever done to hurt him. Damon was the only one who ever loved her for who she really was. And likewise, she loved him a bit too much for her own good. She didn't treat him like the others. He was too special. She did things with Damon that she never did with anyone else. She let him into areas of her life that were off limits to everyone else. But she got in over her head, and it spooked her. She couldn't let love get in the way, so she ran. She was very good at that.

Running was always what she did best.

Even after she disappeared, Damon held on to her for a century and half, never once doubting, never once stopping, never once did the thought of giving up cross his mind. He would have turned the earth upside down just to get her back. But she wasn't where she was supposed to be, and he was devastated. And then she had to come back, and she had to stand there and look him in the eyes and tell the most difficult lies that she'd ever told:

"The truth is, I've never loved you." Lie.

"It was always Stefan." Lie.

The truth was, she loved the idea of Stefan more than the man. The truth was that Stefan barely ever showed her any affections, and only did so before he knew who she really was. The truth was that Stefan was totally indifferent towards her and didn't care whether she lived or died, so long as she stayed out of his life. The truth was that she had showed Damon the best and the worst of herself, and he loved her unconditionally, and intensely. And the truth was that Damon's love _terrified_ her.

The truth was, it was always Damon.

And oh how she wished she could have let him know that right then, but she couldn't. Even if she did, they still couldn't have lived _happily ever after_. The problems she faced in centuries prior were just as present as ever. Nothing had changed. She still couldn't let love get in the way. So she pushed away the brother who loved her "too much," and briefly pursued the brother who she knew would never love nor accept her, because it was more comfortable to be rejected by Stefan than to be accepted by Damon. It was a charade so convincing that she almost had herself believing in it.

She had come to take it for granted that Damon's love for her would never waver, but she pushed too hard, and as she looked into his beautifully broken face she knew she had just thrown away the only element of meaning in her otherwise barren existence. But by then it was too late. The damage was already done.

Only in retrospect could she finally see the truth. What she had come to fear the most was not death, nor Klaus, nor his minions.

What she feared the most was true love.

The revelation made her feel so horribly _sick_.

The others were all leaving, and Katherine was left alone laying on the ground in that circle of death, her cheek in the dirt. Free and alone. She was free to enjoy her eternity alone, just like Damon told her. It shook her to the core, and she did the unthinkable. She broke. She shattered. She cried. She rubbed at her wet eyes with the back of her hand, a sensation that felt completely foreign to her.

After five hundred years, she broke down and cried. She finally had the freedom to let herself _feel_ it all.

It felt like a landslide that would certainly bury her.

But he must have heard her quiet sobs, because he stopped following behind Stefan and Elena. No one else stopped. No one else would have bothered, because no one else cared. She saw him turn around and come back, boots kicking across the dirt, and in that moment she had never been more thankful. It wasn't the first time Damon had thrown her a lifeline. When she was in trouble and she called for him, he still came running. When she was in the tomb, he was the only one who cared. When she was taken by Klaus, he was the only one who cared. He gave her another chance when she least deserved it.

It seemed almost paradoxical. He was the one she hurt the most, but he was the only one who still cared about her. How did that happen?

She picked herself off the ground, dusting off the dirty sleeves of her leather jacket, not that it actually helped. He was the only one who ever saw her for who she really was, so it was fitting that he would be the only one to ever see her cry. Only Damon. She wouldn't have allowed herself to be seen by anyone else in such a fragile state.

He reached for her, and she felt heavy as he pulled her up into his arms. _"Don't let go. Please, don't ever let go,"_ was all she could think as her wet cheek collapsed against his leather collar. Because if he were to let go, she feared she would never be able to get back up. She cherished and held on to that tiny thread of hope; that tiny thread that miraculously hadn't snapped in spite of the incredible strain upon it; that tiny thread that still held her and Damon together. She felt like if that thread were to break now, she would truly be doomed. She wanted to burst out with everything she wanted to say, but the burden was so heavy that the best she could manage was a choked sob of "I'm so sorry."

"I know," Damon said, calmly pushing her hair back, gently wiping away her tears with his fingers. They both recognized it as the first honest moment they'd shared since 1864.

"After all I've done, how can you still care?" Katherine asked despondently.

Damon shook his head. "One hundred and forty five years... it's not like I can just switch it off." Katherine knew that after a certain point, you _couldn't_ switch it off; you just had to fake it. She had been faking it for a very, very long time.

"But you were right," she sniffled. "An eternity alone is what I deserve. I've earned it."

"Yeah. You and me both," he sighed dryly, at which point she hugged him tighter, because he needed it as much as she did.

"Come on, let's go home," he said, nudging her away from the doom and gloom and despair of the scene around them. It seemed like such a strange thing to say, yet it was somehow fitting. Katherine didn't have a "home," nor any place in particular to go. He knew that. And Damon didn't really have one, either; merely having a place to stay didn't make it "home." She knew that. When she curiously looked at him for clarification, he articulated it so simply: "_No one _should ever have to feel alone."

Something told her he spoke from experience.


End file.
